Rosewood
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: "What's this?" She picked her head up in time to see Marcus reaching for the box of rosewood on the center shelf. She froze. When he took hold of it, her entire body tensed even further. Should she lie? Tell the truth? All she knew was she didn't want Marcus touching that box. "Just some old letters," she said neutrally. She could hear her high voice in her own ears.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: T

Spoilers: Goes AU mid-season 6.

A/N: Part one of three.

xxx

"Hey," Marcus said, nuzzling Lisbon's hair as he flipped through the channels. "Wanna order take out?"

"Sure," Lisbon said absently, nestling closer to him on her living room couch. Marcus was delightfully warm, and his arms felt wonderful around her. "What do you want to get?"

"Ladies' choice."

She smiled at his gallantry. It was so nice being with someone who actually asked you what you wanted, instead of just informing you what you wanted in the most obnoxious manner possible and then haranguing you about your eating habits for ten minutes afterwards. "Mm. Italian."

"Works for me." Marcus got up to make the call, then settled back down next to her. She'd selected an old movie in his absence.

She slid her arms around his waist when he sat down. "Thanks for cooking," she teased, pressing a light kiss to his jaw.

He grinned and dropped a kiss on her lips. "Anytime."

"Is this okay?" she said, gesturing to the screen. "It's only about fifteen minutes in."

"Sure. I think I've seen this one, but it's been a while."

Lisbon found herself getting more engaged in the movie as the story developed, but Marcus fidgeted, his attention waning.

He reached over to the bookshelf next to the couch and picked up a framed photograph. "Are these your brothers?"

Lisbon turned her head to look. "Yeah. Jimmy, Tommy, and Stan."

"Skater kids," Marcus commented. "Do you know how to ride a skateboard, too?"

"Who do you think taught them?" she asked, leaning her head against his shoulder as she returned her attention to the movie.

Marcus set the photo back on the shelf. "What's this?"

She picked her head up to look again in time to see him reaching for the box of rosewood on the center shelf. She froze.

When he took hold of it, her entire body tensed even further. Should she lie? Tell the truth? All she knew was she didn't want Marcus touching that box. "Just some old letters," she said neutrally. She could hear her high voice in her own ears.

Marcus felt her tension against him. Surprised by her reaction, he removed his hand from the top panel of the box and glanced back at her. "Ohh, I get it," he said, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth as he studied her expression. "What is it, old love letters?"

"No," Lisbon said shortly, her face burning. "Nothing like that."

He tilted his head and continued to study her. "Pen pal?"

"Sort of." She hoped the desperation she felt to get him off this subject wasn't evident in the tone of her voice.

Marcus looked back at the box as though it were a critical clue in a mystery he'd only just discovered.

It's not a clue, she thought miserably. Just—leave it alone. If she were a different person, she would distract him. Laugh it off, distract him with a playful caress and a kiss. Instead she drew away, unable to tolerate the idea of him touching her right now.

"Hey," he said, soothing. "I'll leave it alone, okay?"

Some of the tension left her shoulders. "Thank you." See? That was what was so great about Marcus. When you asked him to leave something alone, he, you know, actually did so. He didn't feel the need to pick at the topic like a scab until the whole thing cracked and bled.

He put his arm around her again. Lisbon wasn't really in the mood for cuddling anymore, but she leaned against him anyway.

He glanced at the box. "Must be some pretty important letters."

She tensed again. "Marcus." A warning.

He shrugged. "I'm just saying. They must be important to you."

"Why would you think that?" she asked irritably.

"Well, aside from the fact that they're obviously upsetting you, they're on the middle shelf."

She drew away again and cast him an incredulous look. "So what?"

"That shelf is the most easily accessible one from this spot on the couch. If you wanted to read one of the letters, you'd just have to reach over and you could take the whole box down," Marcus mused. "The middle shelf signifies pride of place."

Ugh. She was never dating a detective again.

She glanced towards the built in shelves by the front door. Marcus had given her a postcard from the place he'd taken her on their first date. She'd placed it on the lowest shelf, which was about at the height of her hip, and propped it up against a book. She'd angled it towards the front door, so anyone—Marcus—would see it right when they came in. She saw it every day when she unlocked her door… and then walked right past it.

"It's just a shelf," she said finally.

"Mm," Marcus said, but he was clearly unconvinced.

They returned to watching the movie, each dissatisfied but unwilling to risk further antagonizing the other. They were no longer cuddling. Instead, several inches separated them on their respective seat cushions.

"Pen pal…" Marcus said slowly, apparently unable to let it go. He turned his head to look at her. "Jane was in South America for two years, right?"

"Yeah," Lisbon said, her response clipped.

Marcus didn't take the hint. "The letters are from him?"

She sighed. "Marcus, why are we talking about this? They're just letters."

"If they were just letters, they wouldn't be on the middle shelf," Marcus said obstinately.

"Look, you know Jane and I are friends. What do you care if he sent me a bunch of letters while he was away?"

"All right, let me ask you this. If I wrote you a letter, would you put my letter in the box with his?"

Her face betrayed her answer.

"That's what I thought," Marcus said, a tinge of bitterness creeping into his voice.

She tried to recover the situation. "I'd put your letter in its own box."

"Yeah. And where would that box go? On top of the fridge? The place where you keep your winter clothes?"

"Marcus, for God's sake. _They're_ _just letters_."

He glanced over at the box again. "Have you ever thought about moving that box somewhere else?"

"Like where?"

Marcus was thoroughly agitated now. "Like to a bottom shelf. Or a top shelf. The back of your closet. Anywhere that doesn't tell anyone who looks at it that it's the most important thing in the room!"

"It—does not say that," Lisbon spluttered, horrified. It didn't! Did it? Oh, shit. Had Jane ever been in this room? No. He'd stopped by to pick her up or drop her off a couple of times, but he had never invited himself in. She hid her relief.

"Okay, fine. Let me put it another way." He fixed his eyes on hers. "Let's say you and I keep seeing each other. Let's say we get married. Would you move the box then?"

"Who said anything about getting married?" Lisbon said, hearing her voice go shrill with panic.

"Hypothetically. If you and I got married. Would you move the box?"

She cut her eyes away. "Marcus," she said unhappily.

"Jesus Christ." Marcus got to his feet and raked a hand through his hair. "What the hell are we doing here, Teresa?"

"Apparently, we're fighting about a bunch of old letters for no good reason," she muttered.

He ignored this. "I thought we had something good going on here."

"We did!" She hastily corrected herself. "We do. Marcus, forget the letters. Let's just—go back to watching this stupid movie."

His gaze stayed riveted to her face. "Are you in love with Jane?"

She went still. "They're—" she swallowed hard. "They're just letters, Marcus."

He laughed mirthlessly. "No. They're not."

"Marcus—"

He ignored her and crossed to the front closet. He opened the door and yanked his jacket off the hanger.

Lisbon got up off the couch and followed him. "What are you doing?" she asked, incredulous, as she watched him shrug into his jacket.

He turned to face her. "Teresa, I've been pretty clear with my intentions towards you. But if you're not in this with me, then I really don't see the point of trying to keep this relationship going."

"You're breaking up with me?" she said, stunned. "Over a bunch of _letters_?"

He sighed. "It's not about the letters, Teresa. It's about what they represent."

"Marcus, look, I'm sorry. I'll move the box, okay?" She felt ill at the thought, but she pressed on. "I'll stick it in the back of a closet, if you want." Marcus was right. If she wanted a real relationship with him, she needed to let the past go and prioritize him. She could do that. She could. She'd shove that box under the bed in the guest room and put Marcus' postcard on the bookshelf. She could even get a frame for it.

"What would that achieve?"

"I don't know," she said, goaded. "You're the one who brought it up in the first place!"

"I don't want you to move that box because you feel like I'm holding it over your head, Teresa," he said, exasperated. "I want you to move it because our life together is more important to you than what's inside it." He looked at her sadly. "But that isn't true, is it?"

"Marcus, you and I have only been going out for two months," Lisbon said desperately. "Those letters—they were all I had during a very difficult time in my life. But I—I want to move on. I want to move on with _you_."

"No, you don't," he said, his heart in his eyes. "You want to want to move on with me. That's not the same thing."

"I just—need more time," Lisbon said unhappily.

He sighed. "Teresa. How long did you work with Jane? Back at the CBI, I mean."

"Twelve years."

"And you guys were never involved back then, right? You never slept with the guy. Never shared a drunken kiss? Nothing?"

"No!"

Marcus nodded, as though this is was the answer he'd expected. "And then he left for two years? After destroying your career and the agency you worked for?"

"That's wasn't Jane's fault—"

Marcus dismissed this protest. "But he left for two years afterwards, right?"

"That's right," she said stiffly.

"Yeah," he said, his mouth twisting wryly. "I don't think time is going to do the trick."

Tears stung her eyes. "Marcus," she said helplessly. She looked at him, her gaze imploring.

He stepped forward and cupped the back of her head in his palm, then bent his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Good-bye, Teresa."

The tears didn't spill over until after he'd closed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Lisbon had little hope she would be able to successfully conceal her emotional state from Jane for long, but it was nonetheless a blow when he took one look at her as she walked in the next morning and said in alarm, "What's wrong?"

She ducked her head and put her purse in her desk drawer without looking at him. "Nothing."

He got up from his couch and came to hover by her elbow. "Seriously. What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter." Shit. She could hear her voice going high again. How had she not figured out how to stop doing that by now?

"Did something happen with one of your brothers?" Jane pressed.

She sat down at her desk and fired up her computer, wishing he wasn't standing so close. "My brothers are fine."

"Rigsby and Van Pelt?"

"I haven't talked to them lately, but I'm sure they're fine, too."

Jane glanced across the bullpen to where Cho was reading a copy of Atlas Shrugged. "Cho looks fine." His eyes tracked along the bullpen until he spied Fischer chatting with Wylie and Abbott in the break room. He sat down on the edge of her desk and inspected her more closely. "Team's all accounted for."

"Jane, nothing's wrong," she said, more firmly. "Now get out of my way," she said, shooing him off her desk. "I have work to do."

Jane frowned. "You're lying."

Lisbon sighed. "Jane—can you please, for once in your life, just drop it?"

"Hm," Jane said, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. "All right," he said at last, very reluctantly.

Lisbon exhaled in relief. "Thank you."

"For now," Jane added.

She shot him a look but didn't press it. With Jane, it was always better to quit while you were ahead.

Xxx

Her reprieve only lasted until mid-afternoon. Jane watched her like a hawk the whole time. It was extremely distracting. She wondered if he had divined some insight she hadn't intended into the state of her mind by the cadence of her typing.

At two-thirty, Jane reached his limit.

He got up from his couch, curled his fingers under her elbow, and pulled her out of her chair. "Come with me," he said briskly.

"Where are we going?" Lisbon asked suspiciously.

"We're going for a walk."

"Jane, I'm in the middle of—"

"Nonsense, that can wait." He put his hand at the small of her back and ushered her over to the elevator.

Lisbon tried to think of an excuse, any excuse to avoid going with him, but since her actual, valid excuse of needing to work during standard working hours held no water with Jane, she had trouble coming up with a reason he would accept. She scowled and let him lead her out of the building.

He guided her to a small park a block away from the office. He came to a stop under a flowering apple tree. "Seriously," he said, his hands on his hips. "What's wrong?"

She made a face. "Jane…"

"It can't be a case. You didn't seem distressed when you were working at your computer, and we don't have any big cases open at the moment anyway." He frowned at her. "Did someone at work say something to upset you? Fischer? Or Abbott? Just tell me what they've done and I'll fix it."

Oh, Lord. "Everything's fine with Fisher and Abbott, Jane. And everyone else on the team," she added hastily.

He studied her closely. "Is it an old case?" he asked finally. "Something from our CBI days? Or when you lived in San Francisco? A bad guy resurfacing or something?"

"It's nothing like that. It's not a big deal, okay?" She looked away. "I just don't really want to talk about it." Honestly, why was that concept so difficult to grasp?

He went pale. "Are you sick?" He seized her hands and gripped them painfully. "Teresa, are you sick?"

Trust Jane to drive her to the limit of crazy and then suddenly act so vulnerable and sweet she couldn't stay mad at him. "I'm not sick, Jane," she said soothingly, squeezing his hands. "I promise."

He sagged with relief. "Oh, thank God." He let go of her hands and put his hands on his knees, bending over and breathing heavily, as though he had just run a mile and was out of breath.

Lisbon tentatively reached out and patted his back, torn between exasperation with his inability to mind his own business and being touched by the depth of his investment in her well-being. "Jane, you need to calm down. You're working yourself up over nothing."

He straightened, still breathing deeply. "It's not nothing. You're upset about something."

Hiding something like this from Jane had always been a pipe dream, she thought with a sinking sensation. Evasion had made him suspicious. Lying would make him double down with the obnoxiousness until she fessed up. She decided to cede the tiniest possible portion of truth to him. "Marcus and I broke up."

"Oh." Jane relaxed immediately, then brightened. "Is that all?"

"Real sympathetic reaction," Lisbon grumbled. "I'm so glad I confided in you."

Jane grinned, unrepentant. "So what'd he do?"

"He didn't do anything," she said tightly.

"Come on. He had to have done something," Jane protested. "You guys were getting along so great."

She looked down. "Yeah, well, apparently, he doesn't think so."

His smile faded. "I don't understand," he said, a look of consternation taking over his face. "You're saying…he broke up with you?"

"Yes."

He appeared genuinely puzzled. "That doesn't make sense. Why would someone break up with you?"

She eyed him somewhat askance. "Plenty of reasons."

"Name one," he challenged her.

There was no way she was telling Jane her boyfriend dumped her because of him. She glared at him. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Do you want me to have a word with him?" Jane offered courteously.

Lisbon couldn't imagine a more horrifying scenario. "Absolutely not."

He studied her intently. He frowned. "You're really upset about this."

"I'll get over it," she said crisply.

He hesitated. Looked at her searchingly. "Were you—" he swallowed. "Are you in love with him?"

Seriously? Had he and Marcus compared notes or something? "What the hell, Jane?" she said irritably. "What part of 'I don't want to talk about it' is so difficult for your tiny brain to comprehend?"

He straightened. "Very well. Message received. I won't bother you about it anymore." He fidgeted. "But, uh. If you want to talk. You know I'm here for you, right? For anything."

Moved despite herself, Lisbon jerked her head upwards in acknowledgment. "Thanks, Jane."

Satisfied, he escorted her back to the office. He deposited her at her desk, then disappeared to God knows where. Lisbon focused on her report and tried very hard not to think about the box of letters and middle shelves.

Twenty minutes later, Jane returned. He placed a plastic cup dripping with condensation on the corner of her desk, squeezed her shoulder, and retired to his couch. He'd brought her a chocolate milkshake.

Lisbon looked balefully at the chocolate milkshake. In that moment, it seemed like the exact reason she would never be able move that damn box off the middle shelf.


	3. Chapter 3

Lisbon managed to get through the rest of the week on auto-pilot, avoiding Jane as much as possible and trying not to think about the box of letters on her shelf.

She saw Marcus twice, once in the parking lot from a distance and another time in the main entryway to the building. She gave him a half-hearted wave both times she saw him. He waved back but didn't quite manage to smile. He didn't stop to chat. His obvious preference to avoid her stung, but she supposed she had to be grateful that they didn't work on the same floor and would therefore be spared these awkward interactions on a daily basis. She hoped time would soften the edges of those painful exchanges and that they could ultimately grow to be—if not friends, exactly, then friendly, at least. Marcus was a good man. She wanted good things for him. But in the short term, it was hard not to feel the sting of rejection when she saw him. Even though the reason he'd broken up with her had been her own damn fault. Sort of.

On Friday, she came home at the end of the day and closed the door behind her with relief. Finally, some peace and quiet.

From the doorway, she saw Marcus' postcard, still propped up against the picture frame. She crossed over to it and picked it up with a sigh. She stared at the design for a moment, then blindly slid it between two books on the shelf behind it. Maybe when she found it again, it would feel like a fond memory instead of a painful reminder.

She puttered around the house for a while. Put some laundry in. Ate some leftover lasagna for dinner. Then she settled onto the couch with a glass of wine and flicked through the channels with disinterest. She found a hockey game, but the team she was rooting for was being clobbered, so it wasn't much of a pick me up.

Her eyes strayed to the box of rosewood on the shelf.

It was a beautiful box. An antique. Every surface inlaid with delicately carved leaves and vines, woven together by the intricate design. A gift from Jane, actually, from long before he'd ever written her any letters. For keepsakes, he'd told her.

She picked it up and traced her fingers over the ridges and swirls, enjoying the textures of the leaves and vines beneath her fingertips.

Well, she thought philosophically, taking a large sip of wine. If she was going to be miserable, she may as well wallow in it. She opened the top and pulled out the first letter.

She read them all in chronological order. She laughed in some places, teared up in others. Jane really did have a way with words.

_…__The postal system here continues to confound me. Stamps never cost the same amount from one week to the next. But you would like the ladies who work there. They would cluck and fuss over you and tell me how lovely you are while they told you how terrible I am at Spanish…_

_…__I'm slowly making my way through a copy of Jane Eyre in Spanish. Miss Eyre reminds me of you in some ways. She has a quiet determination reminiscent of your own. She never takes any crap from Mr. Rochester. Quick-witted and sharp-tongued, she always puts him in his place. She can appear reserved to outsiders, but she feels everything so deeply. And of course, she is honorable to the core…_

_…__This flower made me think of you, so I decided to try my hand at pressing it between the pages of a book. I think it turned out rather well. I hope its scent still lingers after its journey to Washington so you can get a sense of the full sensory experience, even if it is a bit faded by the time you receive it…_

She reached the last one, less worn around the edges than the others. She'd received it right before she'd been summoned to Austin and had never gone back to re-read it the way she had with the others.

_Dear Lisbon,_

_I hope this finds you well. All is well here. I have my routines. Weather's finally turned. It's a little cooler, far from cold. But the ocean's still warm. And with the warm motion currents comes an abundance of sea life. Just yesterday l watched a pod of dolphins play so close to shore I could almost touch them. They're the kind of things I think you'd enjoy._

_I've found a tailor. A real bespoke. Every time I see him, I explain what I want. He doesn't agree. We argue and I think I've won, and then he does what he wants anyway. Despite his sometimes poor taste, his work is excellent. I think you might be surprised at the look. Maybe one day you'll get to see it. Let's just say, I've gone native._

_I've been meaning to apologize for leaving you on the beach that night. You being absent is the one thing that's made this new chapter strange and sad._

_Miss you_

_U no hoo_

She smiled, thinking of Jane watching the dolphins and imagining herself there with him so they could admire them together. Her heart clenched at the line '_I've been meaning to apologize…'_ She scowled. Even here, acknowledging the moment after so much time had passed, he still hadn't actually apologized, just sidled up to it sidelong and left it dangling. _I've been meaning to._ Too little, too late, she thought angrily, thinking of that '_love you'_ followed by '_what did I say_?' from even more years ago. Not to mention the infuriating apology that he'd told her to use for her 'top issue' after the whole Vegas debacle.

_You being absent is the one thing that's made this new chapter strange and sad_. Still angry, she hardened her heart against the melancholy bleeding off the page. _Miss you_.

Well, okay. She didn't doubt that. If he hadn't missed her, he wouldn't have bothered to write all those letters in the first place. And—well, Jane was terrible at admitting he was wrong. The fact that he'd brought up the whole leaving her on the beach thing after so much time had passed meant it must weigh heavily on him. At least he was acknowledging that he knew he'd hurt her, instead of pretending the whole thing had never happened, like he had with the _'love you'_ incident. Perhaps that was progress.

God, she'd missed him, too. She wished she could have watched the dolphins with him at least once.

She read the letter again, smiling despite herself at the idea of the tailor getting the better of the great Patrick Jane. _I think you might be surprised at the look. Maybe one day you'll get to see it._

She frowned, re-reading that last line. Then she read it again. And again. Disconcerted, she set the letter aside and picked up the first one.

Then she went through and re-read every damn letter again.

"Son of a bitch," she said aloud when she'd finished, and got up off the couch.

Xxx

When she knocked on the door of Jane's Airstream, it was nearly midnight. The light was on, though, so she knew he was awake.

Jane answered the door looking even more rumpled than usual. "Lisbon," he said, surprised to see her there, a letter clutched in her hand. "Everything okay?"

She glared at him. "Are you in love with me?"

Jane froze like a deer in headlights. "I, uh—" he cleared his throat. "Won't you come in?"

Lisbon marched up the steps and pushed past him, slapping his letter against his chest. "I read your letter."

Jane took hold of the letter automatically, bewildered. He scanned it quickly. "This is the last one I sent to you before I came back to the States."

"Yeah," Lisbon said tersely. "You told me about your tailor."

"Victor," Jane said, remembering. "According to him, no man's wardrobe is complete without epaulettes."

"You said I'd be surprised at the look."

"Well, I was really thinking of the pink sarong more than the epaulettes when I said that," Jane began, but Lisbon cut him off.

"You said maybe one day I'd get to see it."

Jane went still. "Ah."

"One day I'd get to see it," she repeated. "You thought you were going to see me again."

Jane swallowed. "I…hoped." He looked at her, his eyes full of longing. "I really did miss you, you know."

"No," Lisbon said, shaking her head.

Jane hadn't been expecting that response. "I assure you, Lisbon, I truly did miss you—"

"Not that," Lisbon interrupted. "The other thing."

"The other thing?"

"You didn't just hope you would see me again. You _planned_ to see me again," Lisbon emphasized.

"What, uh… what makes you say that?" Jane said, avoiding her gaze.

"That letter," Lisbon said, nodding to the letter he still held in his hand. "And a hundred others just like it."

Jane winced. "I—

"You were planning to see me again," Lisbon repeated. "Before Abbott came to see you in South America, before Fischer turned up at the beach. You had a plan." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Tell me what it was."

Jane's shoulders slumped in defeat. "It wasn't a plan," he admitted. "It was more like… a few dozen plans."

"Tell me," Lisbon said, her tone brooking no argument.

"Well," Jane said, looking at his shoes. "I thought about sending you a plane ticket, obviously."

"Why didn't you?" she asked, more softly now.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "You might have said no. And if you did agree to come, you wouldn't have wanted to stay. So I…" he blew out a breath. "So I needed a better plan."

"What were your other plans?"

"Returning to the U.S. in disguise, for one," he said. "But I didn't think you'd like that. Ditto for sneaking across the border and coming to visit you as a fugitive. So I had to figure out some way to come back that was legal. That was a bit trickier. I was still working out some of the details."

She stepped closer to him. "Fischer said…" she trailed off.

He looked up. "What did Fischer say?"

"She said you told her you were afraid coming back would be going backwards."

"I was afraid of that," he admitted. "Even after all that time, my head was still pretty messed up, Lisbon." He smiled wryly. "Is still messed up, really. But that was one of the reasons I hadn't put one of my plans in motion yet. I kept waiting to…to get better. But I hadn't, so I put off my plans. But then Abbott turned up and Fischer said going back didn't always mean going backwards, and I realized the thing I was waiting for was never going to come. Because the only thing that would make me feel better was you, and I hadn't sent you a plane ticket."

"Jane," she said, anguished. "Why didn't you say something? If not in the letters, once you got back to the U.S.?"

"Well… you were pretty mad at me."

"I was mad that you let me think you ran away forever the minute you got back to the U.S.," she corrected him. "I was mad that you just assumed I would drop everything and move to a new state without even asking me."

He looked at her intently. "And now?"

"Now I'm mad at you for not telling me how you really felt." She looked back at him, heartbreak in her eyes. "I thought you only wanted me as a friend, Jane. I tied myself in knots, convincing myself I had to get over you."

A spark of hope flickered to life in his eyes. "Get over me?" he repeated. "You mean—"

She gestured to the letter in his hands. "I still have all your letters. I keep them in a special box on—on the middle shelf. I've read them more times than I can count." She took a deep breath. "I'm in love with you, you idiot."

"Really?" Jane said in a tone of wonder.

She dashed at her eyes and gave a half laugh. "God, Jane. How could you not have figured that out by now?"

Jane stared at her, his eyes soft with amazement and affection. "Apparently, I'm not very bright."

"No," she agreed, stepping closer to him. "You're not." She hooked two fingers between two buttons on his shirt, pulled him down towards her, and kissed him.

Fortunately, he was bright enough to kiss her back.

It was a soft, sweet kiss. When she let him go, he inhaled shakily and clutched at her as though he were afraid she might vanish into thin air if he didn't keep hold of her. "God, Teresa. I love you so much," he breathed, shaking with emotion. "I've been in love with you forever." His chest trembled against her, but his arms were strong around her. He banded his arms around her so tightly she could feel every one of his ribs pressed against hers.

She turned her head so her cheek was pressed against his chest. "I kinda figured that," she mumbled into his chest. "What with all those love letters you sent me."

He tilted her head back and kissed her forehead. "Love letters, huh?"

She leaned back in his arms and scowled up at him. "Don't even try to deny that's what they were."

"I wasn't planning to," he said, dropping a soothing kiss on her lips. "I'm merely curious what made you realize they were love letters now, when you apparently didn't the first time around."

"It was that last one, where you were talking about the dolphins and the tailor," she explained. "Everything in that letter was about wishing I was there with you. When I realized that, I went back and re-read the others all over again. And then I realized they were all like that."

"I really, _really_ missed you," Jane explained. He took a deep breath. "As in, can't live without you missed you."

She tilted her head up and kissed him again. "Lucky for you, I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"That is lucky for me," Jane agreed, and claimed her mouth again.

Several long, satisfying moments later, they reluctantly separated, but still held to each other fast. They met each other's eyes, smiling and breathless.

Lisbon grinned up at him, giddy with happiness. "A sarong? Really?"

"It was practical," Jane insisted. "Far more functional than epaulettes, whatever Victor might have to say on the matter."

Lisbon smiled and leaned her head against his chest again, her arms wrapped around his waist. "Well, I hope someday I get to see the look."

"I can arrange that," Jane promised, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling a deep sigh of pleasure.

She closed her eyes and snuggled closer. "Jane?"

"Mm?" he murmured into her hair contentedly.

She rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. "Will you write me some more love letters sometime?"

He kissed her hair and nuzzled closer. "With pleasure, my dear."


End file.
